


A Reason to Stay

by wanderingeyre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Established Relationship, Feelings, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Derek Hale, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, POV Multiple, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Dad, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingeyre/pseuds/wanderingeyre
Summary: When he is twenty miles outside of town, Stiles rolls down the window and lets the breeze into the Jeep and breathes deep, trying to dispel the rising anxiety in his gut. He’s going home, but he doesn’t know how much longer he is going to be able to call Beacon Hills home.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 16
Kudos: 314





	A Reason to Stay

When he is twenty miles outside of town, Stiles rolls down the window and lets the breeze into the Jeep and breathes deep, trying to dispel the rising anxiety in his gut. He’s going home, but he doesn’t know how much longer he is going to be able to call Beacon Hills home.

After graduation, Stiles spent a month in Sacramento doing research and training in the growing FBI Supernatural Division headquarters. Two days before his month was over, his supervisor sat him down and offered him a choice: stay in Sacramento and join the Research and Support Division or join the Beacon Hills field office. Stiles had to swallow down his immediate yes to Beacon Hills, because he didn’t know if he could go back, if he was wanted back. His chest aches as he thinks about the reason he may not be able to settle in the one place he always wanted to come home to for good. 

Derek Hale. 

The first summer after they all graduated high school, the pack was gathered for a post graduation bonfire. Everyone was happy, full of hope, and a little tipsy from the bottle of whiskey they had passed around. Derek’s eyes were dark in the firelight and he had smiled at Stiles, actually smiled, and Stiles had grabbed Derek’s hand, dragged him out of the light of the fire, and kissed him until they were both breathless and giddy. He spent every night in Derek’s bed that first wild summer, and when he went to school, Stiles texted Derek and called at least once a week.

The second and third summers followed the pattern of that first glorious one. It was full of languid summer days and nights wrapped in each other. The memories sustained Stiles through the fall and winters when he was away, but this past year, something changed as Stiles relived those memories, alone in his apartment at school. That first messy kiss, the beginning of every flurry of text messages, all the long phone conversations, and the initial beginnings every May all started with Stiles reaching towards Derek. Derek always welcomed him in, seemed happy, excited even to see him and talk to him, but Derek never initiated anything. For a while now, Stiles has wondered what would happen if he didn’t move in Derek’s direction. If he stood still, held his ground. Stiles doesn’t know if Derek would reach towards him, choose him for once.

As much as Stiles wants to make Beacon Hills his home permanently, he only wants to be in Beacon Hills if he can be here and be with Derek. Not in the way they have been together the past three summers, but entwined together by mutual choice, by love. Stiles wants that so badly the next breath he takes hurts, because for all the time he and Derek have spent together, the words  _ I love you _ have never been uttered. Stiles is starting to think that, for Derek, they aren’t true. For Stiles, they have always been true.

The turn off to the Hale house is better marked than it used to be. There is a glossy wooden sign hanging from the fence post with a picture of a wolf howling at the full moon and the words ‘Hale Hideaway’ that Isaac made Derek two years ago for Christmas. They all laughed a long time after Derek opened it, and Isaac beamed like a spotlight the day Derek hung it on the entrance to the property. Despite the anxiety in his gut, Stiles smiles at the memory. No matter what happens in the next twenty-four hours, he will still have the pack.

Stiles pulls slowly up into the yard next to the garage and turns off the Jeep. His hands are tight on the steering wheel and he forces himself to calm down, knowing that Derek will know he is here and be able to tell if something is wrong. He wants to enjoy tonight, in case he doesn’t get another. Stiles grabs the small duffel next to his larger suitcase. It has what he needs for one night. One night to decide the trajectory of the rest of his life. Stiles takes one more calming breath and gets out of the Jeep. When he rounds the corner of the garage, Derek is already on the porch, arms crossed and making Stiles’s mouth water, waiting for him.

+++

Derek is on edge. He knows Stiles is headed toward Beacon Hills, can feel the pull right behind his belly button, and the text Stiles sent him a couple of hours ago had confirmed what he already knew. It’s been six years since Stiles has been his anchor and five years since he acknowledged it to himself. Five years of having that string between them tightened with distance then loose and warm with proximity in a cycle he’s never gotten used to. Five years and now Stiles is coming home, hopefully for good. Derek sent everyone away for the night. He wants one night with Stiles before the pack descends on them for the summer. One night to reassure himself that Stiles is well, whole, and in Derek's arms where he belongs.

The sound of the Jeep ratchets up his own heartbeat. Stiles is close enough that the steady beat of his heart, a little elevated, is a comforting tattoo in Derek’s head and in his blood. He rests his head against the door and takes a steadying breath before pulling it open with a shaking hand and stepping onto the porch. His hands feel awkward so he crosses his arms and leans against the post next to the stairs. The Jeep shuts off and Derek holds his breath until Stiles rounds the corner. His feet want so badly to move, to run towards Stiles, but he stays rooted. 

When Stiles is six feet from the porch, Derek can’t wait and he rushes down the porch steps and closes the last few feet between them. His arms go around Stiles and he buries his face in Stiles’s neck, breathing deep the scent there that is home and pack and love all rolled into one. Derek holds them in that position for a handful of breaths and he doesn’t miss the underlying anxiety that Stiles is trying to conceal, but he understands it’s source because he has been anxious all day, waiting for this. 

Every time Stiles shows up in his life is a gift, a gift he’ll never be able to earn and he knows he doesn’t deserve. Derek is afraid at the end of every semester, at the beginning of every holiday that Stiles won’t come, but then Stiles always shows up with Derek’s heart in his hands and Derek can scarcely breathe for the hope those arrivals manifest in him. 

Stiles rubs his nose along Derek’s temple then pulls back and places a lingering kiss on Derek’s mouth. “Hey, Sourwolf.”

There is still some underlying anxiety in Stiles’s scent, but Derek doesn’t let it bother him. They can talk about it later. “Are you hungry? I made lasagne.”

“Just for me? Is the rest of the pack here?”

Derek leads Stiles inside, hand on the small of his back, unwilling, unable to break contact yet. He’s calmer and more content than he’s been in months. “I sent them all away for the night.” He knows his face heats when he admits that.

Stiles turns once they are inside, grinning wickedly, and pushes him against the closed door. Despite months apart, their bodies have remembered exactly what to touch, where to lick, and how the placement of a kiss in just the right spot drops the other to their knees. It’s dizzying. Stiles always overwhelms Derek’s senses in a way that no one else does and Derek has no qualms about falling headfirst in the sensations. 

“Does dinner have to be right now?” Stiles asks as he drags Derek’s shirt up.

Derek shakes his head and yanks at the waistband of Stiles’s jeans “No. We can heat it up later.”

“Excellent.” Stiles grabs him by the hand and pulls him up the stairs and to Derek’s bedroom.

It’s hard to get the rest of their clothes off since they won’t let go of each other, but they manage it and fall onto the bed, a tangle of laughing limbs. Stiles is hard, all angles and heat along his body and Derek aches with need. He cups Stiles’s face and places a reverent kiss on his lips, sucking as he pulls back. Stiles moves forward and moves his hands down, wrapping them around Derek’s length and squeezes. Derek groans. 

Stiles’s pupils are already wide. “Anything you want tonight?” He smiles at Derek and, though there is something in the last word that Derek doesn’t catch, he rolls Stiles on his back and kisses his way across the other man’s collarbone. Derek dreams of this skin under his lips and his hands when they are apart and he wants to make sure his memory is accurate.

His body remembers and Derek slides his hand between them and ghosts his fingers over Stiles’s entrance in a way that has both of them squirming. They are both impatient so it doesn’t take long before Stiles has a leg over Derek’s shoulder and the other around his waist as Derek drives into him. Slow at first, but Stiles is mewling and begging and Derek stops being gentle. They both come in a rush and hold each other, the stickiness between them as they learn how to breathe again and their hearts slow down.

“I missed you,” Derek says and he hears Stiles’s heart stop then start again. 

Derek is suddenly and completely afraid that Stiles will ignore his confession or refute it. For a moment, despite all the evidence to the contrary, he expects Stiles to kill the burgeoning seed of hope in his chest. Derek never forgets that the last time he loved someone they burned his family alive. He knows now that what he felt for Kate Argent was a candle. What he feels for Stiles is a consuming blaze that leaves him dry and wanting more, always more.

Instead, Stiles pulls him close and breathes deep, until his heart is firm and steady, face buried in Derek’s neck. “I always miss you.”

Derek squeezes until Stiles protests and they both stumble from the bed to clean up before eating. Over dinner, Derek fills Stiles in on news that didn’t filter through the pack phone tree and Stiles tells him about his month long internship in Sacramento. 

“I’d like to go visit the local pack in Sacramento again. Their Emissary offered to mentor me if I wanted to move in that direction. I told him I would think about it.”

Pride and want fill Derek in equal parts. He wants Stiles to put roots in this land, into their pack, so that it is entwined with him the way Derek feels tangled in him already. “They’re a good pack and that’s a generous offer. If you take it,” Stiles' scent shifts, but when Derek listens to his heart it is even and his expression open, so Derek continues, “we can see if there is something we can do for them. We haven’t spent much time over the last few years building alliances, but it’s time. We should.”

“I’ll think about it.” Stiles takes the last bite of lasagne and leans back rubbing his stomach. “That’s the best meal I’ve had in months.”

Derek resists the urge to preen at the praise. He loves feeding Stiles. “Have you eaten anything healthy since I saw you last?”

“Yes,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I didn’t have a choice. You sent me those prepackaged meals that included vegetables.”

That had been a whim, sending Stiles those pre-prepped meals, but it had made Derek feel like he was still taking care of him even though Stiles was far away. There is nothing he wouldn’t give Stiles if he asked. Derek wants more than stolen summer months, but he wants Stiles to be able to make a choice more than he needs Stiles at his side. Even if the choice Stiles makes rips his heart out.

Stiles is brilliant and can do anything, be anywhere he wants. Derek doesn’t want Stiles to choose Beacon Hills, to choose Derek, because he feels like that is the only choice. Stiles deserves to escape if he wants to, to not be forced into staying because of the next monster on the horizon or because of the pack, or because Derek is a millstone around his neck.

Stiles’s hand is warm as it encircles Derek’s wrist. “What’re you thinking about?”

Derek smiles, shaking off his worry. “I was considering what movie we should watch.”

If Stiles knows he is lying, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Derek learned long ago that Stiles has a way of seeing him when few others do. Stiles says, “We’re watching  _ Doctor Strange _ because you haven’t seen it and you’ll like it. Stephen Strange is an insufferable asshole who thinks he knows everything, too.”

Derek laughs and it feels good. He doesn’t laugh much when Stiles is gone. When Stiles is here, he can’t keep the smile off his face.

They clean up and curl up on the couch. Stiles burrows into Derek’s side and Derek pulls him close, burying his nose in Stiles hair.  _ God, he missed this _ . With Stiles here, everything feels more intense and comforting at the same time. Derek forgets the enormity of it until Stiles is here and then he can barely live with the weight of the knowledge that at some point Stiles became everything to him. 

Later that night, as Stiles fills him up and covers him, Derek’s heart is beating a steady rhythm of  _ I love you _ , but he keeps the words inside, afraid of saying them out loud. He does everything he can to show Stiles and he prays that it is enough. They fall asleep, touching in as many places as possible, and Derek thinks the feeling in his chest could be joy.

In the morning, Stiles is cooking the one thing he can with focus and the house smells like bacon when Derek gets out of the shower. Peace settles over him as he slips into a worn t-shirt and loose shorts. He sneaks up on Stiles, stalks him really, and presses his nose into the back of Stiles’s neck. Stiles jumps at the contact, then leans back into Derek, pressing his body flush against his. Derek doesn’t stop his body’s response and wraps an arm around Stiles’s waist.

“And here I thought I already had a good morning.” Stiles wiggles his ass against Derek. “As fun as that would be, I’m already in a committed relationship with this bacon. There’s coffee over there. How many eggs do you want?”

“Just scramble all of them,” Derek replies. No matter what kind of eggs Derek requests, they always come out scrambled, so Derek asks for those every time now.

Stiles is quiet while they eat and Derek can smell the tension building in him. His hands fidget with his fork, tap on his leg, and he shifts his glass to and fro. Stiles is working himself up for something, but Derek doesn’t push. 

“I’ve been offered two jobs,” Stiles blurts as he hastily swallows the last of his eggs. “They are expanding the office in Beacon Hills and want me to join and help build it up. It’s going to be the regional office for southern California.”

Stiles will be close. The seed of hope in Derek roots deep and sprouts leaves. Stiles could live in Beacon Hills, by choice, choose him and the pack. Derek is giddy for a moment before he realizes that Stiles is still talking.

“I also got to know the head of the research department while I was in Sacramento. She’s brilliant and asked me to join her team.”

All the air leaves Derek’s body. “In Sacramento.”

Stiles is watching him, his body still when he so seldom is, with something like expectation. He nods. “In Sacramento. It’s a great opportunity for me.”

“You’ve always loved research.” Derek can’t believe he doesn’t choke on the words while everything in him dies.

“Both jobs would be great for my career. I’m not sure which one would be best for me.” That stillness is still there and Derek can smell something else coming from Stiles, fear.

Derek wants to fall on his knees and beg Stiles to come home to him, to stay, but Stiles has to choose that for himself, and Sacramento would open doors for Stiles that he could not get here in Beacon Hills. He deserves something better than a broken alpha of a ragtag pack in a small town with nothing but death and sadness.

Derek takes a deep breath, drinking down the fear and anticipation in the room. “You should go where you think you’ll be happy.” It’s as diplomatic an answer as he can give.

Stiles’s expression locks down at Derek’s words and the change in his scent is swift, a canyon of grief and anger writhing together that drives a knife straight to Derek’s heart. Stiles slides his chair back, the scraping sound louder than the blood pounding in Derek’s ears. Stiles turns and stalks out of the kitchen and Derek watches him go, listens as he goes upstairs and shoves things in his small duffel before pounding down the stairs. It occurs to Derek that the bag Stiles brought in was too small for anything but one night and real fear settles into his bones, making him ache and feel like his skin is pulled too tight to fit properly. 

Stiles never meant to stay more than one night. The realization punches a hole in his chest.

“Stiles, wait.”

Stiles stops, his hand trembling as he reaches for the doorknob, a mirror of Derek yesterday and the image hurts so much Derek closes his eyes. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Stiles wraps his hand around the doorknob, his knuckles white. 

Derek can’t see his face, but he can smell tears in the air and he wonders if they are on Stiles’s face or his. 

“I need some space.” Stiles’s shoulders hunch down then he straightens his posture and walks out. 

Stiles doesn’t slam the door. He clicks it shut without once turning around and Derek thinks he may be sick. He wants to run after Stiles, but his body has forgotten how to move. Even when he hears Stiles in his Jeep, taking deep heaving breaths that are more like sobs, he doesn’t get up from his chair. He sits there and lets Stiles leave.

+++

Stiles doesn’t know where else to go, so he goes to the house he grew up in, the place his dad still lives. It’s been hard to call it home the last couple of years because home has increasingly been wherever Derek was. Stiles’s entire body is on fire with pain. Just one time, one damn time he needed Derek to tell him he wanted Stiles to stay, but he should have known that was too much to expect. Each intake of breath is a puncture wound in his chest, but Stiles is still alive and is going to have to figure out how to live without Derek Hale.

Stiles pulls both bags out of his jeep this time and braces himself. His dad’s car is in the driveway and he can barely articulate to himself what is wrong, let alone discuss it with his too perceptive father. Stiles pushes open the door and is hit with the comfort of a place where you are always wanted and welcomed. 

“Is that you Stiles? I thought I heard the Jeep.”

His dad walks out of the kitchen and wraps Stiles in a hug. Stiles clings to his dad and wrestles his emotions back into place. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you so early.” His dad puts him at arm's length and sweeps his eyes over him. “Everything ok?”

Stiles smiles and nods. “Great. I wanted to talk to you about the job offers I have. I couldn’t wait.” The lie is easy.

His dad grins. “Put your stuff upstairs and come have coffee with me. You eat yet?”

“Yes,” Stiles says. _ I had breakfast with Derek and he refused to say anything that would make me believe he actually wants me here _ . “Coffee sounds great. I’ll be right down.”

Stiles’s room is the same as when he left it four years ago. He drops his bags on the bed and sucks down lungfuls of air, panic threatening around the edges of what is left of him. He doesn’t want to leave his dad but he can’t stay in Beacon Hills and see Derek, knowing he’ll never be something Derek wants. Stiles stays there, breathing until the black spots recede from his vision. The cloying pain follows him downstairs, but at least he can breathe, move his limbs like he is still a functional person and not a shell of something else.

Stiles sits at the table and tells his dad about the jobs. 

“You know I want you to stay here, kiddo, more than anything, but I want you to go where you want to be. You’ll be great in either place.” 

His dad said the words like they were easy, choosing Stiles, asking him to stay. 

“I am leaning towards Sacramento. It may not be permanent. I could get some experience and then work in whatever office I wanted.” Stiles swallows the grief those words bring him, in the choice he has already been forced to make.

His dad reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Stiles starts to nod, but there’s a knock on the door and the barrier he had formed to protect what was left of him shakes at the sound.

His dad gets up. “Who could that be at this hour?”

“Nobody good,” Stiles mutters. He follows his dad into the entryway, knowing in that way he just sometimes does, that it’s Derek on the other side of the door. He wants to tell his dad to leave it closed. He’s not ready to face this. Everything inside him is fractured and the pieces don’t fit, they may never fit again.

His dad, unaware of the storm brewing in Stiles, opens the door. Derek’s eyes, impossible and beautiful, are wide and desperate. They bore into Stiles and he feels them like a physical touch. Stiles tries to hold onto his anger at Derek and his inability to use his damn words and never choosing Stiles. All Stiles can dredge up is exhaustion and pain and he leans against the wall. Right now, it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

His dad looks over his shoulder at Stiles, then back at Derek. He opens his mouth to say something, very parental, Stiles guesses, but instead he ushers Derek inside.

“I’m going to take a shower.” He gives Stiles a pointed look. “A long one.”

Stiles nods, but doesn’t move his eyes from Derek as the other man stays just inside the doorway. The air is weighted with years of unsaid words. Stiles’s entire body is frantic to move forward, to touch Derek and smooth a hand over the pain on his face, but he can’t. Won’t. Not this time. Not anymore. He’s done moving towards Derek. Done stepping out first. Stiles clenches his fists by his sides and glares at Derek, silent.

“Stay.” The word is dragged out of Derek as if the word itself is glass in his mouth.

It slices through Stiles, who is shocked to know that there is more pain to be cleaved out of this situation. “Why? In five fucking years, you’ve never once asked me to stay or have given me any indication that you do anything more than tolerate my invasion into your life.” Derek flinches and Stiles plows forward. If this is the last conversation they ever have, he will at least be honest, for both their sakes. “More than that, since I’ve basically been in love with you since you old man yelled at us to get off your lawn when we were looking for Scott’s inhaler all those years ago, which really doesn’t point to anything good about my mental state, but I can’t stay. I can’t stay if you don’t want me here.”

Derek blinks. “Not want you here?” He honest to God whines, and Stiles almost loses his resolve to stay put. The sound scoops up the middle of Stiles’s body and rips out what is left.

“Don’t want you… why would you ever think I didn’t want you?” Derek’s words are quiet.

Stiles laughs, the bitter sound echoing on the tile in the entryway. “When have you ever given me the impression that you’ve done anything but go along with what I pressed into your life?” He lifts his hand, too mad to be embarrassed at how much it is shaking as he ticks off the reasons he has repeated like a mantra these past months. “I kissed you first. I always call you. You never call me unless there’s an emergency, someone is bleeding out, or there’s a magical problem Deaton can’t solve. You never text me unless I text first. You never ask me to stay for the summer. I just show up like one of your damned strays and move in without asking.” Stiles is panting before he is finished.

“Stiles.”

Stiles makes a chopping motion. “I’m not fucking done.” He is going to get this out if it kills him, and it might. “I told you about those job offers this morning because I wanted you to choose me. I wanted you to do or say something to show me that you actually want me around. That you might actually care about me.” Stiles’s voice breaks at the end but he keeps his chin up. Stiles feels brittle and thin, waiting for whatever bullshit deflection he is sure Derek is going to lob his way. 

Derek takes a step towards him, tentative, slow, as if Stiles is even capable of bolting. He takes another and another, each one making it harder for Stiles to breathe. If Derek is going to cut him loose, Stiles needs him to do it quickly so he can go fall apart in private.

Derek is inches from him and slides his hand over Stiles’s collar bone, wrapping his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, leaning his forehead against Stiles’s. Derek takes two deep breaths and Stiles can feel Derek gathering himself. 

“I always want you to stay. Always.” Derek’s hand is tight and hot on his neck. “I wanted you to have a choice, but I think I might have given you too many without making any of my own.” Derek leans back so he can look at Stiles. “You’re my anchor, Stiles.”

The ground swoops out beneath his feet and Stiles is thankful that he is wedged between the wall and Derek or else he would be on the ground. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I should have. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to make decisions based on that. You were only seventeen when it happened. You weren’t even an adult yet. I couldn’t saddle you with that when you already risked so much, running into danger all the damn time.”

Stiles rests a tentative hand on Derek’s waist and squeezes. “You should’ve told me. Maybe not then, but you should’ve told me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” A small tremor runs through Derek again. “Please stay. Take the job in Beacon Hills.”

It’s right there, the things Derek won’t say, on the cusp of everything, so Stiles pushes at it. “Why, Derek? Why should I stay? You don’t need me to stay to be your anchor. That reason is not enough. Not for me, not anymore.”

“I love you. I want you to stay. Be my partner, my Emissary, run the pack with me. Come home with me and never leave. I love you.”

Everything in him bursts and Stiles smiles then, unrelenting and wild. He closes the gap between them and cradles Derek’s face in his hands, kissing his lips, then trailing kisses down his jawline to Derek’s pulse point. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

Derek grabs him and kisses him like Stiles is air and he has forgotten how to breathe. They are both panting and hard by the time they break apart.

Stiles waggles his eyebrows at Derek. “Are you asking me to get werewolf married? Are we going to be mates?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “That’s not a thing, Stiles.”

“Of course it is. Don’t be such a sourwolf and ruin this for me.”

Derek sighs, but his eyes are full of sparks and humor. “Are you coming home with me or not?”

“Of course I am, but you have to admit that we’re getting werewolf married first.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“There’s only one way to shut me up.”

“I love you. Shut up.” Derek swallows whatever comeback Stiles is going to say next by covering Stiles’s mouth with his. 

“I love you too,” Stiles says as soon as Derek releases him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and theme based on the song Something to Hold Onto by The Small Glories.


End file.
